Before the Fall
by TheWheelWeaves
Summary: A three-part prologue to Stars Will Fall in This Rose is Extra series.
1. Hero of the Reichenbach

**This piece is a prologue to Stars Will Fall, much like the cases discussed here are a prologue to the episode The Reichenbach Fall.**

**I would like to take this spot to thank WhoLockGal for being inspiring and comforting and wonderful any time I need someone to complain to as well as being a completely brilliant writer and a fantastic human being.**

**I'd like to thank SquirrelWho, TempestInTime, and Lupa Eira for writing their brilliant RoseLock stories from which I always draw inspiration, and for all three of them who regularly comment and critique my work, even when I am an absolutely terrible reader and reviewer of their work.**

**Additionally, thank you to my wonderful Husband who also puts up with a whole lot of crap from me when I write these things.**

**Finally, thank you. Yeah, YOU. If you're reading this, then I just want you to know that I love that you're taking time out of your life to read these stories. Because that's what they're here for, to be read. I really hope you enjoy!**

**These characters and situations do not belong to me. I'm just playing in the sandbox, but I'll put everything back where it belongs when I'm done.**

* * *

Sherlock paced his sitting room. John and Rose were ignoring him. Rose had recently purchased one of those electronic books that could keep an entire library's worth of reading material on a piece of equipment smaller and lighter than the average paperback. She was stretched out on the sofa, legs hooked over one of the arms, holding the device above her face and parallel to the ceiling in what appeared to be a dreadfully uncomfortable position which she had been holding for nearly an hour now. John was settled in his armchair behind the paper.

"I'm bored," Sherlock said, hoping to garner some attention to his plight.

"You said that half an hour ago, dear," Rose said in a dismissive voice, "as we haven't actually changed activities, we did not anticipate that the fact had changed."

Sherlock frowned at her. The tone was the same one that she used on her little brother, Tony, when he was being irascible or throwing a tantrum.

"I did tell you that if you had an idea of something to do, we could vote on it," John said from behind the paper.

"I need a _case_," Sherlock said. Had they forgotten how difficult things got for him if he was left without anything to do?

"Perhaps you should make friends with more of the local criminals then," Rose said, flicking her finger across the screen of her device to turn the page, "then you might convince them to work to your schedule."

"Look here, Rose," John said, folding the paper back and angling it toward her, "that actor you like is in a production of _Much Ado About Nothing_."

Rose turned over, setting her book on the table and looked at the article John was showing her. "Well that looks like fun. I should see if I can get tickets. Mickey and Martha will probably want to go. She loves Shakespeare, Martha."

"And you like that Scottish actor's bum," John said with a grin.

"True enough," Rose said before picking her book up again.

"I said-" Sherlock began but Rose cut him off.

"We all heard what you said, Sherlock." She tossed down her book and sat up to face him. "You want a case. We might sympathize if you hadn't been called about a case not two hours ago that you _turned down_."

"A missing painting, Rose?" Sherlock asked, incredulous. "That case was barely a two. I need a six or better."

"When you're pacing around here growling and moaning, then yes, a two is probably exactly what you need," Rose said. "Go solve it and I'll take you and John out for sushi to celebrate. I know a place that the paparazzi haven't found yet."

"Yeah?" said John, "I haven't had good sushi in ages."

"Well, you and I can go, but I'm not taking Sherlock anywhere until he finds that bloody painting for the BM."

"I am not going to take a case that is beneath me for the promise of sushi," Sherlock said, haughtily, hoping that Rose would see how absurd she was being

"Then shut up for a few minutes so John and I can read," she said, irritably.

They all settled into the quiet again. Sherlock continued to pace in ever faster circles. Sometimes he reached the bookshelf and studied it, trying to find something to read and distract himself. Sometimes he picked up the skull that lived on his mantle and handled it gently.

Ten minutes passed in quiet.

Sherlock sighed heavily and quite audibly.

"Shut up, Sherlock," John said.

"I didn't-"

"Yes you did," said Rose, not looking up.

Sherlock sat in his chair and glared at the two of them petulantly.

Ten further minutes passed in quiet.

"Think I'll make some tea," John said, getting up with a slight groan and massaging his injured shoulder.

"Need a hand?" Rose asked.

"No, I'm fine," John answered and wandered into the kitchen leaving Rose and Sherlock alone.

Sherlock let the silence sit for another minute or two until he couldn't take it anymore. "Rose?"

She sighed and set her book down again. "Sherlock, why are you still here?"

"What?" he asked, perplexed.

"You have a case. Go solve it. Maybe it'll only take you ten minutes, but at least it will be ten minutes that you're not pacing your sitting room going mad and keeping me from my book. You're a professional detective, now go act like a professional."

"But..."

"Stop it. Take John and go solve your case. Call me when it's done."

"But... I don't..."

"Yes you do. Now get your phone and call the British Museum back and tell them you're on the case. John," she called into the kitchen, "put the tea in travel cups, you and Sherlock are going to the BM to find a painting."

Sherlock continued to frown at her.

"I'll go hail you a cab, okay? Don't be too long." With that, Rose got up, pulled on her leather jacket, waved to John from the kitchen doorway and descended his stairs.

Sherlock sighed and picked up his mobile to call the museum back.

~?~?~?~?~

"'Falls of Reichenbach,' Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock and John stood awkwardly before a small group of wealthy art historians, investors and journalists as the curator waxed enthusiastic about their headline-making recovery of the museum's current showpiece. The recovery had taken nearly a full week- not because the actual solving of the case had been difficult, but because the perpetrator had hopped on his motorcycle and zipped across England, forcing John and Sherlock to follow.

"A small token of our gratitude," the curator said, presenting Sherlock with a small box wrapped in red paper with a black ribbon.

Sherlock took the box, turned it once to listen and pronounced, "diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons."

"He means thank you," John told the curator who looked shocked.

"Do I have to?" Sherlock asked.

Rather than say anything, John nodded toward a blonde woman in a black skirt suit and amethyst-coloured blouse standing leaning against one of the walls, watching the proceedings from outside of them.

Sherlock met her eyes, and then turned to the curator with a tight smile. "Thank you," he said politely. He then tried to walk away from where he and John were standing toward the woman in black when John caught his arm.

"Ah," John said and held him still while one of the represented newspapers snapped a picture.

The two of them finally escaped the clutches of the press to meet the woman in the corner.

She grinned at them. "Excellent work Detective. Doctor. I believe I owe you two a sushi dinner now for solving that one."

She looped her left arm through Sherlock's right, and her right through John's left and she led the two men toward the exit.


	2. Top Banker Kidnapped

**As ever, these are not my characters. I just play with them when I need distraction.**

**Please read and enjoy!**

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"He's a friend of my dad's," Rose wheedled.

"So make your dad go looking for him," Sherlock groused.

"Come on, Sherlock. It's an adult. He was kidnapped. There's even a ransom note."

"If the kidnappers are sending ransom notes then they're bound to be caught."

"Caught, yeah. But before they kill him?"

Sherlock leaned his head back on the back of the sofa, phone still to his ear. He sighed heavily.

"Please, Sherlock?"

He nearly growled. She knew that he could refuse her nothing when she asked like that. It was probably why she'd done it- her father was very worried about his friend and she was there with the family, helping to watch the young son. She was compassionate that way.

"Fine. I'll come help."

"Thank you. I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Yes. I'll have to let John know."

"I texted him already, he's on his way to you now."

"You think of everything, don't you?" His voice was a bit irritated, but in truth he was glad that she had done it- it would save him time.

"It's what you keep me around for."

He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke and he could feel the smile tugging his own mouth as he hung up.

~?~?~?~?~

"…Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal. And we have one person to thank for my deliverance: Sherlock Holmes."

The banker's son offered Sherlock a small box wrapped in blue paper with a silver ribbon. He took it and tilted it over. "Tie pin," he identified to John, "I don't wear ties."

John shook his head and nodded toward the woman at the back of the media circus in a blue leather jacket. When Sherlock met her gaze, she put her index fingers to her cheeks and mouthed '_smile_' at him with a grin of her own. Sherlock smiled at the flashing cameras of the press and wished himself anywhere but there.

Once the press left, Rose moved forward to give the family her congratulations and wish them well before ushering them back into their house. Then she stood on the sidewalk with John and Sherlock for a few minutes.

"I hate this sort of thing," Sherlock said, once she had descended the steps to his side.

"It's funny, isn't it? You love applause and for people to tell you how amazing you are, but you hate the media circus."

"If they were interested in what I'd actually done: the solving of the case, the examining of evidence, the looking for clues, I might like it better, but all they want is for me to stand there looking like an ass while someone hands me a '_token of appreciation._'"

Rose smiled and looped her arm through his as they set off down the road, John in the lead. "That's why you have me and John, then, right? To be impressed when you go on about the whys and hows and stuff that no one else is interested in."

Sherlock covered her hand with his. When she looked up at him, she could just almost swear that he was smiling.


	3. Ricoletti Evades Capture

**Everyone's favorite consulting detective duo and pretty blonde time-traveler belong to the BBC. But what I would do with them if I owned them...**

**Please enjoy!**

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John wrinkled his nose as Rose drowned her chips in vinegar.

"You're ruining them, you know."

Rose glanced up at him and deliberately picked up a chip and put it in her mouth, licking the salt and vinegar from her fingers in an ostentatiously obscene way.

"Fine, whatever," John said, looking away and blushing.

Rose's silent laughter shook the table. "Sorry, sorry." She grinned at him, and he grinned back. They tucked into their chips again and after a moment Rose said, "thanks for coming out to lunch with me today. Know you two are busy. How's the spy hunt coming?"

John sighed. "Oh, you know, fine."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Sherlock's having fun, best I can tell."

"So it's a complete nightmare."

"Yeah, yeah it is."

"But you wouldn't miss it for the world." It was a statement, not a question.

John watched her as she ate. He didn't know where she got her knowledge or her wisdom from. She said that she'd known someone like Sherlock before- someone even more brilliant, she'd said. She'd also said that he was gone- five years, she'd told him. She didn't talk about her history much, and the very few times he'd asked, she'd simply told him it was classified. After Sherlock, she was his best mate, but he realized that he knew very little about her.

"How do you know that?"

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you're right, but how do you know?"

"I told you once that I had a friend like Sherlock, yeah?" She waited for John's nod, though she didn't need it. "He and I, we traveled together- we went everywhere. Gods, we were mad. I practically died every week. We'd go to save the day, or learn something new, or just see something that we hadn't seen before, and we'd end up in trouble every time. Jeopardy friendly, he used to say, mad bastard that he was. I'd get so furious with him 'cause I'd nearly died, or gotten sold into slavery, or arrested, or married, and he'd just laugh like a loon. And I couldn't help but laugh with him because... well... I loved that life. We never stuck around to clean up, just off on the next adventure. I can see now how stupid and irresponsible we were the whole time, but it was beautiful too. So for all the danger, all the near-death experiences, all the fights, all the pain... I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

John looked at her completely bewildered, but he could not continue this line of questioning because his phone lit up with a text at that moment.

_The game's afoot. Require your presence._

_-SH_

Rose looked at his phone as he read and said, "follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England and St. George.'"

"Beg pardon?"

"It's the rest of the speech from Henry V. 'Once more unto the breach?' Shakespeare, you know?"

"Not really," John admitted, "sorry."

"No worries, it's one of the dull plays, even if that speech is quite good. Go help Sherlock catch a spy. I'll see you later."

~?~?~?~?~

"Peter Ricoletti, number one on Interpol's most wanted list since 1982. Well, we got him, and there's one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads with his customary diplomacy intact," Greg Lestrade said, glancing over to where Sherlock was standing with John.

"Sarcasm," John said quietly.

"Yes," Sherlock said shortly. He was not an idiot.

Greg approached Sherlock with a large blue envelope and handed it to him with a smile. "We all chipped in."

Sherlock tore the top of the envelope off and pulled out... a hat like the one that he had used to hide from the press while leaving the scene of another crime that he had solved nearly a year back.

"Oh," Sherlock cried, honestly surprised, and not at all pleased. He could see Anderson and Donovan standing in the back, laughing at him. He gave a quick smile to the flashbulbs and then gave Lestrade a pointed look.

"Put it on," cried a voice from the mob of journalists. More of them took up the cry after a moment.

"Yeah, Sherlock, put it on," Lestrade said with a smug smile.

Sherlock glanced at John who nodded pointedly, sighed, and put the hat on. Even more pictures were taken then, and Donovan and Anderson were nearly doubled up with laughter.

"Where's Rose Tyler today, Sherlock?" cried another voice from the press.

Greg, John and Sherlock's expressions all became hard and searching, trying to determine who had asked the question.

"Are you and Rose Tyler still an item?" came another voice.

"Is it true she's changed her will to have you as her sole benefactor upon her death?"

Greg, seeing the thunderous expression on Sherlock's face sprang back to the microphone from which he had given the press interview earlier. "Please restrict your questions to the matter of the case. Ms. Tyler had nothing to do with this case, and her relationships are her own business."

John had laid a hand on Sherlock's arm and whispered to him, "leave it. Nothing you can do about it, just leave it. You know Rose can take care of herself."

Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. He would not go throttle a journalist just now, but he would also not stay to be questioned any further. Looking at DI Lestrade, he jerked his head toward the door and, receiving an answering nod from the Inspector, led John away from the press room.

They had not even fully made it out of the police station when Sherlock's phone started playing Brown-Eyed Girl by Van Morrison. Both Sherlock and John looked at the device in question to see a picture of Rose pop up on the screen.

"Did you change the ringer settings on my phone?" Sherlock asked by way of a greeting. John hit his shoulder at the rudeness.

"Just mine," she replied.

"Why?"

"So you'd know when I was calling and wouldn't ignore me like Mycroft."

"I could just look at the caller ID and know it was you."

"Maybe, but this is more fun. Anyway, I was watching the interview. Sorry they got derailed from your investigation, but the hat is quite fetching."

"I'm sorry they can't seem to respect my privacy. And I hate the hat."

"I know you do, but it suits you. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Not tonight?" Sherlock did not sound disappointed. He absolutely didn't sound either disappointed or petulant.

"I've got tickets to see a show with Mickey and Martha tonight. You said you didn't want to go when I asked."

"Right, of course. Tomorrow then."

Sherlock frowned slightly as he hung up. He took off the cap, but did not toss it into the nearest bin they passed, but not because Rose had told him it was fetching. Not because he knew wearing it would make her smile. Definitely not.


End file.
